Brave

Chapter 3: Ethan

I'm awakened yet again, and this time it's by the kind voice of an older gentleman. He sounds a little bit like my grandpa, but my grandpa's been dead for many years. Maybe I've actually died and now I'm in heaven meeting my deceased relatives.

I open my eyes to see a gentle face, a man of around sixty years. He doesn't look a thing like my grandpa.

"Hello, Sarah. I'm Dr. Fischer." I force a small smile. "I'm sorry this happened to you," he continues. "I assure you that I did everything possible to save your leg, but there was too much damage." I choke back the tears as the doctor goes on. Ugh, I hate crying! But suddenly I'm completely unable to control my emotions. "The good news is that your left leg should be as good as new in a few weeks. Your right leg is healing nicely, above the amputation. You're a healthy young lady."

"Sure, a healthy young lady who will never walk again," I mutter.

"I know this must be terrible for you, and again, I'm very sorry. But there are many ways for you to lead a normal life without a flesh and bone leg. There are amazing prosthetic limbs that can help you walk, just like a real leg."

I tune him out after the word prosthetic. I've heard all I can handle for one day. It doesn't matter how great the advances in modern medicine are, I still have no right leg.

Once the doctor is gone, my mom leaves for a few moments to grab some lunch from the cafeteria. I know she worries about leaving me alone, but I'll be fine. I need a few minutes to myself anyway.

I find the bed control button and ease myself up into a sitting position. Mustering all the courage I can, I look down at my legs. Well, my one and a half leg. I'm covered by a thin white blanket, but I can make out the outline of my entire left leg, and then what remains of my right leg. I reach under the blanket and I run my hand down along the outer side of my right thigh. When I reach the bottom of my thigh, where my knee would be, I stop.

My leg is really gone, from the knee down.

I tentatively move my hand across the bottom of the stump and wince because, even with all the bandages and pain medications, it's still tender. Or maybe I'm just imagining the pain because it should hurt like hell. I continue to move my hand up the inside of my thigh and then fall back against the pillows. My ears are ringing, my neck and chest are becoming uncomfortably hot, and I feel an intense wave of nausea. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my mouth.

"Um, hi," I hear a gentle knock on the door and a smooth voice. I open my eyes to see a young man who must be about my age. He has a goatee and a charming smile. He's not wearing a doctor's coat or scrubs. He just has a hospital-issued name tag that reads ICU 3. I reach for my ice water to take another sip, but my hands are still shaking too much for me to grip the cup.

"Here, let me help you," the stranger says. He holds the straw to my mouth so that I can take a drink. Then I close my eyes again. The feeling of faint is almost past.

I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth.

"How are you?" The mellow voice continues. He leans over to leave an airy kiss on my forehead.

Not quite certain that I won't throw up, I respond with minimal effort. I give him a thumbs up and he smiles when I finally look at him. That's when I recognize his sky blue eyes.

"Ethan," I whisper.

"Yeah. That's me." I can tell the words get caught in his throat.

I just nod.

"I wanted to see how you're doing."

"Well, I'm down one leg. Otherwise, I'm doing great," I say. And then I remember, it's because of him that I'm still alive.